


thunder only happens (when it's raining)

by CaptainOzone



Series: Ride Your Light [2]
Category: Batman - All Media Types, DCU, Young Justice (Cartoon)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Bat Family, Canon-Typical Violence, Dick Grayson is a Good Brother, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Jason Todd Has PTSD, Late Night Conversations, Oneshot, Season/Series 03 Spoilers, batman bingo 2020, references to violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-01
Updated: 2020-03-01
Packaged: 2021-02-28 01:28:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,012
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22975534
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CaptainOzone/pseuds/CaptainOzone
Summary: Dick and Jason have a long overdue conversation regarding a certain psychotic clown.Set sometime between the last chapter and epilogue ofCome Alive. Written for the Batman Bingo 2020 prompt "Thunder."
Relationships: Dick Grayson & Jason Todd
Series: Ride Your Light [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1651120
Comments: 40
Kudos: 716





	thunder only happens (when it's raining)

**Author's Note:**

> Heavily inspired by _Joker: Last Laugh_.
> 
> Title taken from the song _Dreams_ by Fleetwood Mac.
> 
> And, also, a huge thank you to ErinNovelist for reviewing this for me when my faith in myself was suffering a little. I appreciate you. <3

A fussy whine eases Dick from near-sleep. He turns in bed, yawning and patting haphazardly at the bedding. Ace’s tags jingle as he paces to the other side of the bed and back again, and Dick’s hand goes slack.

If the dog wants up, he’ll get up. Eventually. Surely.

Sleep makes his consciousness fuzzy, soft. Eyelids fall, heavy and placid, and Dick slides back into the half-state that borders the land of dreams.

It’s not even seconds later that a loud thunderclap _booms_ , rattling the room and jolting Dick wide awake. An onslaught of sudden rain pelts the windows, and Ace’s paw slams into his face. He rockets upright, heart racing.

“Shit,” he mutters. He rubs at his eyes and squints in the darkness at Ace, whose pacing does little to hide the quake in his legs. “Shhh,” he croons. “Shh, it’s okay, buddy.”

Ace’s next whine is sharper, more incessant. Dick sighs and tosses off his comforter, swinging his legs out of bed. “Shhh,” he attempts again. He holds out his hands, and Ace comes forward immediately. Dick fondles his ears and murmurs sweet nonsense as he presses his lips into the soft fur at Ace’s crown.

Just when Dick thinks Ace has calmed some, there’s another loud crack of thunder—followed by a bright flash of light—and Ace tears away from Dick to whine and pace, back and forth and around the bed and back again.

Dick stares blankly at his window, where a slim section is visible through the curtains. The wind’s picked up. Shades of trees whip past, and pellets of rain have conglomerated into _sheets_ that whoosh and slam in tandem with the wind.

It hasn’t stormed like this in a long time.

Bruce’ll have the opportunity to say _I told you so_ tomorrow morning. Dick had wanted to drive back to Blüdhaven after their weekly joint patrol, but B had taken one look at his parked motorcycle, cocked a head to the sky, and said "hell no _._ "

You’d think, after more than a decade in Gotham, Dick would be able to read her fickle moods. He had thought Bruce was over-reacting. That he would have made it home _fine,_ thank you very much. He could have used the Zeta, even, and then come back in the morning for his bike.

(It was Alfred’s patented Look that nipped _that_ particular suggestion in the bud).

Needless to say, he supposes he’s grateful for the intervention now.

Ace’s nails jab into his leg again, and Dick sighs as he lowers the offending paw off his knee. “Alright,” he yawns. “Alright, alright.” He heaves himself out of bed and pulls his comforter with him. “C’mon, bud. Let’s get out of here.”

Ace is almost a nuisance, glued to Dick’s legs as he is. Dick has to collect his comforter into a ball to keep himself from tripping over any excess fabric _and_ the dog, but despite the odd dance Dick has to do to avoid kicking Ace, they somehow manage to make their way to Bruce’s home theater/media room.

The room is buried in the center of Wayne Manor, windowless and insulated from light and noise. From here, the storm is no longer right outside their door, but off in the far distance, where it grumbles rather than roars. Dick flicks on the lights, lowers the dimmer as far as it can go, and closes the double doors behind him before settling in on one of the couches, where he maneuvers his comforter into an open cocoon around his shoulders. “Alright, boy,” Dick says to Ace. “C’mon up.”

It takes little coaxing: Ace jumps up on the couch immediately and burrows in the open space Dick left beside him. The poor dog trembles against him, and Dick shifts and tucks the blanket closed around the pair of them, releasing his arm only for the very necessary action of scrounging around for the remote to turn on the TV.

Bruce must’ve been in here with Damian recently. Sesame Street is playing.

Dick leaves it on, staring through the screen. Before long, exhaustion takes hold again, and he leans his head back, sinking into the plush cushions and rubbing slow, rhythmic circles into Ace’s flank as he dozes.

Ace is calm _(er_ ). Dick is calm. Life is calm.

(Thunder never bothered them anyway).

He must fall asleep. At some point. He’s not sure. And it can be any number of things that wakes him again. The leg Ace pressed himself against has gone numb, for one. Dick is also _baking,_ constrained and bundled as he is under the thick covers.

The most likely reason, however, is that there’s someone popping open the doors to the theater room. They don’t open fully. Instead, they hesitate mid-swing, as though the person outside has realized the room’s already occupied and can’t decide whether or not to intrude.

Dick can’t tell who it is, but despite the fact he’s probably had a grand total of one(1) hour of sleep since patrol ended, he won’t mind the company. Better to take the choice away from whichever of his siblings is out there. Besides, Ace is already halfway out of his spot on the couch, eager to investigate.

And none of them can deny Ace.

“Thunder keeping you awake, too?” Dick asks, voice thick with sleep.

“Shit,” comes the gruff response. Jason sheepishly peeks his head in, and Ace’s tail goes ballistic once he realizes it’s another one of his People. “Sorry, I thought you were—” Their dog cuts him off by wiggling around, twisting and weaving in front of Jason. He butts at his hand. “God, Ace,” Jason says with fond irritation as he automatically caves to Ace’s demands. “Chill out, will you? Hello to you too.”

“S’all good,” Dick says in acknowledgement of Jason’s aborted apology. “Ace’s scared of the storm. I was mostly awake anyway.”

Jason doesn’t respond, instead giving Ace a ferocious rub down that the Shepherd eats up. While his brother’s distracted, Dick sits up on the loveseat, blinking away the lingering weight of his fatigue, and studies him.

It’s been a few days since they last saw each other, but Dick left thinking...all was well. That things were okay. Jason was feeling good about his GED prep, and he graduated from mannequin and inanimate training to legitimate (i.e. Bruce-sanctioned) sparring, _with_ weapons, which had been a huge hurdle and one that, when passed, was cause for celebration.

But his brother’s not been sleeping well again: Dick can see the rings under Jason’s puffy eyes; the vacancy in his gaze. It’s hard to tell if something is truly bothering Jason, though, because of how he’s looking at Ace. Ace has been a miracle drug for everyone in the family since Bruce picked him up from the shelter. It’s hard to hang on to stress or nightmares or pain when those big, trusting brown eyes are staring back up at you.

Even so...Dick isn’t one to ignore his instincts.

He picks up the remote to mute the TV. Jason immediately notices the lack of background noise, and his hands falter along Ace’s ribs.

“Sit with me,” Dick requests.

Jason is halfway to denying him—to making excuses and leaving—but thunder booms through the open door, and as Ace bolts from Jason, quaking, that’s when Dick sees them: the shadows haunting the planes of his brother’s face, the set of his jaw.

Dick recognizes that cagey expression growing on Jason’s face, too. He doesn’t want to talk. Doesn’t care for a heart-to-heart right now.

Alright, fine. Dick backs off and puts the ball back in Jason’s court. “Or not,” he says, lying his head back again and closing his eyes. Light from the TV dances behind his lids, no longer the comfort it was before. When Ace begins whining again, Dick reaches out to pet him and adds, “I have a feeling it’s going to be a long night.”

Dick tries not to feel gloriously gratified when, after a beat, Jason closes the theater room doors and chooses a spot in one of the nearby recliners. He draws his socked feet up and pulls the throw blanket from where it rests along the back of the chair.

After Ace finds his place beside him again, Dick unmutes the TV and slides the remote across the floor to Jason, deferring to his preferences. Jason clicks through a few channels, but even without opening his eyes, Dick knows he really can’t give a damn what’s on TV.

He’s working himself up to something. Or stalling. Dick can’t imagine why, and he itches to ask.

His patience is rewarded, when, after sitting in comfortable silence for a few minutes, Jason abruptly says, “I need to ask you something.”

Dick blinks his eyes open. Jason is resting his chin on his knees, avoiding eye contact. “Mmmmkay,” Dick murmurs, curious.

“Bruce said something to me,” Jason begins, gaze still fixated forward. “Awhile ago. About you.”

More awake now, Dick picks up on the odd note in his brother’s voice. He folds his legs before him and sits upright to give Jason his undivided attention. “Okay?”

“About something you did, actually,” Jason specifies.

“I’ve done a lot of things,” Dick says slowly.

Jason pulls a face at Dick’s intentional obtuseness, but he doesn’t retort or snap back. Which, wow, does that sober Dick up _mighty_ quick. Humor not appreciated right now. Noted.

“Alright,” he says placatingly. “I’m sorry. I just...don’t know what exactly you’re asking me.”

Jason finally looks at him. “I need to know,” he says. “About you. And Joker.”

Dick isn’t sure what he expected, but he’s certain it wasn’t that. Joker’s name echoes in the silence that follows, and Dick hangs in that interminable space between heartbeats, where he cycles through a hodgepodge of reactions and, all at once, feels as though he’d been doused in ice water and then sucked dry as desert air.

In the end, pure astonishment wins out. “Bruce didn’t tell you?” he blurts.

With a shake of his head, Jason explains, “He told me to ask you.”

Amazed and confused now, Dick sits back and raises his gaze to the ceiling. _When_? he wonders. _And how? It’s been four months since he’s come home. Surely..._

Judging by Jason’s face, Dick was sorely mistaken. “And you...are just asking _now_?” he asks.

Jason makes an annoyed, flustered sound against the roof of his mouth, and in the low light of the TV, Dick can see the heated flush coloring Jason’s cheeks. Dick winces, worried he’s sounding defensive and actively discouraging Jason from talking to him, and he softens his tone when he follows up with, “You didn’t ask Tim?”

“What’s Tim got to do with it?” Jason snaps.

 _Oh my God,_ Dick thinks, _Bruce really didn’t tell him a damn thing._

“Everything,” Dick admits. When Jason goes stock still, eyes piercing, Dick clarifies, “Well, almost everything.”

“...What happened?”

Dick takes a deep breath. It’s not like he doesn’t _want_ to talk about it. Or that he can’t. He knows he needs to, but should anyone else have asked him, he probably would have laughed them off, or perhaps told them the bare minimum. As it happens, most of his friends don’t know the sordid details. Nor will they ever, if Dick has anything to say about it. These are his sins. His burdens to bear. He’s borne them—accepted them and worked on forgiving himself for them—and that, he’s come to realize, is enough for him.

But this is _Jason._ And Jason deserves to know. Everything. Even the parts Dick would rather he not know.

“Someone had the bright idea to falsify a CAT scan of Joker’s brain,” Dick begins detachedly. “The idea, as we understand, was to see if he’d repent if he thought he was weeks away from dying of a malignant brain tumor.”

Jason bursts into startled snorts. “ _What?_ ” he wheezes. “You can’t be serious.”

“Oh, I’m dead serious.”

Jason’s mirth fades as full realization hits him. “Oh,” he says simply. “ _Oh_.”

“Yeah.” Dick rubs Ace’s head. “Naturally, he wanted one last laugh, so he started a riot, Jokerized a ton of meta-human villains locked up with him, broke out, and did what he usually does: breed chaos.”

Jason takes a moment to digest that before asking, “So where does Tim come into all this?”

Dick doesn’t answer right away. Instead, he tries to formulate his thoughts and says, first, “You have to understand something, Jay. I wasn’t tricked or dosed or manipulated into this. I was completely in my right mind, and I still did it. I’m not proud of it. And it actually really messed me up for awhile. But...despite that, when I—” He chokes here, the words catching in his throat. He’s never verbalized them to anyone but Babs. And at the time, even she didn’t hear them so clearly as he wants to express them now.

When he closes his eyes to collect himself, he sees Joker’s pale face behind his lids, painted lips smeared darker and redder with his own blood. He sees cracked teeth and black-and-blue skin.

He sees the _I dare you, wingding! I dare you!_ laughing through those crazed eyes. Feels dormant rage and self-disgust beginning to lick through his veins.

“When I look back,” Dick says, voice remarkably steady, “I’m not happy with how things ended either. Not in the slightest.”

Jason is staring at him. Not with pity. Or with disappointment. His expression is clear, expectant, reserving judgement.

“We all thought Tim was dead,” Dick says, blunt and harsh, seeing as there’s absolutely no gentle way to segue to this part of the story. “Killed. Because of Joker.”

Jason’s nostrils flare, white-knuckled fists clenching and wringing the blanket on his lap.

“I was...done, Jay. So done. When I learned, I just... _lost it._ Two brothers, killed? And for what? Only to realize the Joker wasn’t terminal and was probably going to head right back to prison? Without facing the consequences?” Dick grits his teeth, reining in his volume. He shakes his head, _breathes,_ and spits, “No.” 

“You went to confront him,” Jason guesses.

“I went to confront him.”

“...And?”

“And I beat him within an inch of his life,” Dick says, tone dead. “He goaded me about Tim. About how it would make Batman feel that _I_ was the one to actually off him, in the end. I fed into it. It gave me the excuse to hit harder. And then—”

 _Shit._ Dick swipes at his burning eyes.

“Then he said your name,” Dick growls. “Your _actual name,_ Jay! On those foul lips? In that _voice_? After everything else? And after being responsible for Tim, too? He decides to _use your name?_ ” Dick barks a morbid, sniffling laugh. “I hit that fucking clown so hard that by the time Tim showed up, alive, he wasn’t breathing.”

Jason is pale as a ghost, but there’s something vindictive and dark and _affirming_ in his eyes.

“He was resuscitated later,” Dick says shortly. That Bruce was the one to do it is a conversation for another time, and one Jason may need to have with Bruce alone. Dick knows Bruce only did it for _him,_ and who knows how Jason would react, even after hearing Bruce's reasons.

That isn’t his part of the story to tell.

This, however, is his to own.

“But for a brief moment,” Dick says, “he was dead. And I did it.”

Muted thunder growls over the chittering people on TV, and Dick has to take a moment to focus his breathing. Lowering his face into Ace’s fur, he hugs the dog and counts, slowly, to five and back down to one.

When he raises his gaze, Jason is nowhere to be found. Dick’s heart skips in his chest, and his gorge rises. Without hesitating, he untangles himself from his comforter and stumbles out of the room.

Jason didn’t go far. Dick finds him staring out the nearest window, watching the lightning slash through the night. Cautiously, half-expecting he won’t be welcome, Dick approaches to stand at his brother’s side.

Jason shifts—not away, but toward—and the knot in Dick’s chest loosens.

(It wasn’t Dick he was running from).

“He’s just a man,” Jason murmurs, gaze unblinking.

Dick doesn’t need to ask who Jason’s speaking about. “He’s just a man,” he agrees softly.

“He can die.”

“He can.”

Jason shudders. “Thank you. For...”

Dick snorts when Jason trails off, and it sounds a little wretched. “I’m not sure how to take that. Like I said, I’d probably do it all over again, but I’m not exactly—”

“No,” Jason interrupts hastily. “I mean, _yes_ , I won’t lie and say I don’t have some really mixed feelings about this, but I just...I needed the reminder.”

“Why now? Why tonight?” Dick asks again, because there _is_ a reason, and he wasn’t wrong to ask before.

Jason’s jaw works for a moment, and he pulls his lower lip between his teeth before releasing it and leaning into Dick’s side with a labored exhale.

Dick immediately takes the opportunity to pull Jason closer, and he barely hears Jay admit, in a mere whisper into his chest, “It was storming like this, that night. The night I—”

The next roll of thunder takes the remainder of Jay’s breath from his chest, and Dick feels hot tears wetting the fabric of his shirt. Jason’s hands, Dick realize, are still raw, cracked, and dry from scrubbing under persistently scalding hot water; his cuticles, a shredded mess.

It’s Ace, naturally, who leads the pair back into the theater room some time later, who pulls them out of their heads by reminding them he’s afraid, too, and that, maybe, it's a little better when they're in it together. And it’s Bruce who finds them the next morning, all three entangled together, bright sunlight pouring in from behind him.

The storm passed.

(And so too shall all others).

**Author's Note:**

> Heya! I told you guys I'd be back to play. ;)
> 
> I can't say I ever thought something like this would be my first oneshot after I finished the main fic, but despite how short it is, I hope you guys enjoyed it!
> 
> Rest assured, it won't be the last.


End file.
